by Maya Hughes
Pulling out the clipboard, he stared down at it. “Change up to the starting line-up today. Lewis is swapped in for the start. Everything else stays the same.” He didn’t spare me a glance. “We’re out there in ten.”
Air forced its way out of my lungs and I couldn’t draw any back in. I was starting. Starting for the first time in twenty-four games.
The coaching staff followed him into the PT and recovery room off the main locker room.
A hit nearly knocked me off my feet, but I didn’t slam into the floor. Instead, I was smashed into a set of jersey covered pads. “You’re starting.” Berk bellowed, nearly taking out my ear drum.
“I won’t be if I’m deaf and can’t hear the plays.” But my grin flashed like a winning scoreboard.
Berk dropped his head and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m glad Coach finally got his head out of his ass.”
“That makes two of us.”
We rushed down the tunnel, the chill from the late November air biting even harder as we came out of the overheated locker room in full pads. The second string guys jogged up and down the sidelines to keep warm. The rest of us knew we’d be hot soon enough.
The fog of our breath drifted into the air and commingled into a Fulton U fog. Heat cannons were cranked on, but out of their narrow field of reach, the cold snapped against my skin.
Our QB ran out to the center of the field for the coin toss. The thundering boom of the crowd reverberated through to my bones.
The ref made the call, and the defense was up first.
Rushing out onto the field, I closed my eyes, knowing my spot without needing to see it. We wouldn’t need to come from behind this game. We wouldn’t cut the final score close to the end of the last quarter. We’d win and I’d show everyone by just how much with me here to stop every play coming my way.
Pacing behind the linemen, I found my target and ran through the hours of tapes we’d watched to dissect the opposing team. My goal was simple. Don’t let anyone past me.
Impede. Interrupt. Intercept.
The ball snapped and everything moved in slow motion. Gaps developed and I exploited them ruthlessly, knowing every minute I was out here was one more minute closer to winning the game. Every blocked inch put the offense in a better position. Every breath was one closer to going pro.
Home games meant home parties. This one was a bone-rattling, ear-ringing, adrenaline-revving party where we were seconds from being lifted off our feet and carried around the house.
At least we hadn’t had to supply the booze. Kegs were rolled in without anyone even asking, and the music from speakers we didn’t own rumbled the floorboards beneath our feet.
Some of the underclassmen were in the house, and I’d tap them tomorrow to clean this up after inviting themselves over.
For right now, though, I basked in the near-shut-out post-game vibes. This was a post-game party where I’d been on the field for every defensive play. This time, Marisa laughed in the kitchen talking with Jules until Berk joined them.
But now they’d both disappeared, probably making out somewhere. He’d been cagey lately, since the Dough Ho situation with Jules. Someone had found the dirty notes he and Jules had been anonymously sharing. Well, Jules had been anonymous. Berk had been going crazy trying to figure out who was sending them, and, lo and behold, it was our sweet as pie, curvy, quiet neighbor across the street. Someone had discovered these notes and somehow linked them to Jules. Someone had posted them online during Jules’s online baking show, which led to an unfair shitstorm of assholes tearing her apart online. So someone was a total asshole who Marisa had said needed her ass kicked.
Berk refused to see reason when it came to Alexis. Who was I to lecture him on anything like that?
Marisa had been right in front of my face for forever, but I’d fought against my feelings. Right now, I wanted to rush over to her, throw her over my shoulder, and find a nice quiet spot to make some noise. She’d probably punch me in the solar plexus and glare if I did.
It had been my idea to keep things quiet for my own selfish reasons, but now I wanted to shout about her from the rooftops, and I couldn’t.
Marisa didn’t want to bring down the accusations and behind-our-back whispers about why I was playing now. People might link her and her dad as the reason, and overshadow my hard work. I’d been the one who suggested we keep things quiet, so that was my big idea biting me in the ass.
With twenty high-fives and ten recreations of my game-winning interception, I inched forward through the party. Finally getting the recognition for all my hard work felt good. Not only was I seeing it on the scoreboard, but people were grabbing onto me and freaking out, giving me a play-by-play of moves I’d literally done. Their excitement was infectious. I’d missed it after riding the bench for so long. Hopefully, I’d get even more of it next year.
Every few feet, I’d raise my head and catch Marisa’s eye.
Even though I couldn’t hear her laugh from where I was, I saw it, and it had been ingrained in my brain. She’d give me shit all night about soaking up all the fan attention.
Fifteen minutes later, I finally made it to her side.
Her eyes lit up and she served up an ice-cream-sundae smile for me. “Been enjoying all your adoring fans?”
“They’re okay.” I shrugged.
“You’re so full of it. You love every second of it.” She preened and put on a queen wave, pivoting at the waist with her elbow bent and only her hand moving.
“I do not.”
A guy slammed into my back, knocking me into Marisa and bringing our lips inches apart.
Her eyes widened.
I couldn’t tell if it was with worry or desire. The temptation rode me hard to close the gap and finally show everyone how close we truly were. Before I could make a decision, it was made for me. My arm was jerked back and I was turned around.
I reached out for her waist to steady her, but she jumped back.
“The floor is slippery.” She dropped her gaze, looking around at the empty, dry floor.
A beer was shoved into my hand, amber liquid sloshing over the edge of the rim. “The interception was insane. I had to get you a drink. One more game and we’re going to the playoffs again.”
“Thanks.” I drank my beer and watched her out of the corner of my eye.
I got a look here and there, but never too long. It was like she didn’t even want people to know we were friends, let alone more than that. We hadn’t even put a label on what the ‘more than that’ was.
“Beer pong. We’re up!” Marisa tapped the back of her hand against my chest. “Let’s show them how it’s done.” She downed her drink and marched out to the back yard without a coat on, even though there were still small sad, gravel colored patches of snow on the ground from our freak pre-Halloween storm.
“Do you want your coat?”
“I want to kick some beer pong ass. Let’s go.” She smiled, no longer seeming cagey. It was the quieter, more intimate moments in front of others she shied away from, but when it came to the big loudness in front of other people, she seemed the same. At least that was one part of whatever we were now that was no longer confusing.
Now I just needed to unlock the rest.
23
Marisa
I flexed my fingers on the keyboard and my tongue was heavy in my mouth, my throat and chest tight. It was giving up, but there wasn’t any other way.
“Don’t do this, Marisa. Just wait a little while longer. I can come up with something.”
LJ perched on the edge of my desk, hovering.
“The final payments to Venice are due in May. They need to secure my housing and the only way they can do it is if I pay. There’s no way I can come up with the money before then, even if I tutor seven days a week.”
“But I’ll have the money by late April. Early May at the latest.”
“Your money. The money for you and your family.” I wasn’t going to fall into the trap of becoming
someone LJ felt he had to take care of. I’d been taking care of myself for a long time now.
“Stop being so damn stubborn. Or at least hold off on paying the tuition bill.”
“If I don’t pay it now, I can’t register for classes and there’s only one section of Managing Museums offered in the spring and I need it to graduate. If I wait, I’ll get locked out.”
“Maybe…dammit. Come on. Just wait.”
“What’s the point in waiting?”
“Fuck, I’m going to get some cookies to soften the blow. I’ll warm them up and we can have them with milk, okay?”
“I’m not going to say no.” I offered up a half smile.
His face was a cross between deflated and dejected.
“Stop acting like you’re the one who won’t be going to Italy at the end of this summer.” Saying it out loud hurt. My lips went numb and I sucked in a choppy breath. I could maybe get a position at the museum or a local gallery. My hands were clammy and shaky.
At least I’d be able to see LJ, but what if he ended up on a team thousands of miles away? My stomach clenched like I’d done a keg stand after a tuna-and-Cocoa Puffs sandwich.
“I know how much you wanted this.” He leaned in and ran his lips along the line of my neck. His nose tickled me and I scrunched up my shoulders, pushing him again.
“Go get me my cookies, so I can drown my sorrows in sugar, vanilla and chocolate.”
He took my hand and rubbed his fingers across my knuckles. “It won’t be all bad. I know you wanted to go, but I’ll make this summer worth it. We can take a trip, go somewhere amazing. Penthouse suite. First class all the way.”
The temptation was strong. So strong, I wanted to lean right into it and forget all my problems, but I needed to course correct. “Stop spending money you don’t have.”
“You saw the game. Three interceptions, and we won by the biggest margin all season.”
“Someone’s getting a big head.”
He glanced over his shoulder before dropping my hand onto his crotch. And no, it wasn’t his phone or a remote in his pocket. “I mean, something’s big.” The deep, syrupy way the words dripped from his lips did a number on my heart, sending it speeding. A playful noise of disgust shot from my throat. “Go get my damn cookies.”
He laughed and hopped up from the desk, darting into the hallway.
The cursor blinked in the search bar of my browser. I typed in the student accounts website and logged in. My big dreams of going to Italy dried up with each keystroke.
I hadn’t heard a word from Ron since I’d screamed in his face for a solid fifteen minutes.
But I wasn’t going back to Monday dinners, which meant I was on my own.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and clicked through the student accounts portal. Rummaging through my drawer I found the unused book of checks, which I’d need for the account and routing numbers for the archaic website. It looked like the first website ever created.
The big number in bold at the bottom had sent bile flooding to the back of my throat that last time I logged on.
Typing it in, I was glad LJ wasn’t here, so he couldn’t see my fingers shaking.
I filled in all the information and clicked submit. A big red notice popped up at the top of the page.
Error: Overpayment not accepted.
The number I’d memorized while trying to think up a way out of this situation wasn’t there anymore. Instead, at the bottom of my account balance was a big, bold $0.
Checking through the transactions on my account, I saw that the last entry was a staff tuition waiver applied yesterday.
He’d done it. Ron had turned it in.
I slumped back in my chair and stared at the screen. Surprise and shock detonated in my head. This had to be a mistake. I refreshed the screen twice.
LJ’s steps thumped on the stairs.
Scrambling to log out, I closed the laptop screen.
“Maybe after graduation, we could do a road trip first.” He walked into the room with two glasses of milk and a plate heaped high with cookies.
“A what?”
Setting the plate and glasses down, he spun my chair around, whirling me in a circle. “A road trip. We could drive down to Florida or up to Niagara Falls. We could drive to California.”
“What is going on with you?” My gaze darted to the laptop and my lips parted to tell him. The disbelief still clouded out almost everything else.
He beamed, excitement glinting in his eyes. “If you’re not going to Italy, I want to make this a summer you won’t forget. I’ll have plenty of free time and more money than I’ll know what to do with, if things go as planned.”
“Let’s not count our eggs before they hatch.” There was no point in telling him now. I needed to find out if the balance was real. If it was, I could still go to Italy. I could turn in the money like I’d talked about with the Venice committee and fly to Europe for the next two years.
“This also means you can come to my games. Maybe be there for some of the pre-season.” His excitement increased with every new step in this plan he was creating. A plan where I didn’t go to Italy. A plan where we’d be together. But what happened if all that changed and I wasn’t by his side every step of the way? What if I left for two years and he was here being a pro football player and forgetting all about me?
“Marisa!” LJ’s voice carried up the stairs.
“In my room. Those ten-year-old tour groups are brutal.” I’d kicked my shoes off and was sitting on the edge of my bed, massaging my feet. My go-to tour guide outfit of my only skirt and a white button-down shirt was wrinkled and needed to be washed. Wednesdays were my turn to do school tours, and I’d need to buy new shoes before I lost a toe. Now I could, since my bank account hadn’t been drained paying for my last semester’s tuition. I’d checked in with the student accounts team about the payment, and they’d assured me it couldn’t be reversed.
He thundered up the stairs. “How did the tours go?”
I kneaded my thumb into the arch of my foot. “How do you think they went?”
“I thought you were going to buy new shoes.” He knelt and took my foot into his hands. Powerful thumbs dug into the cramped muscles.
Painful pleasure coursed through my body and I fell back onto the bed, gripping the sheets. “Don’t you dare stop.”
“Why do you keep wearing these?”
His fingers were torturous magic.
I groaned and hissed with each deepening massage pass. “All those PT sessions have paid off.”
He switched to the other foot. “No one’s home.” The dance of his fingers moved from my foot to my ankle to my calf.
“I mean, I’m home.” Propped up on my elbows, I dropped my head back trying to pull together the strength to lift it.
The magic of his fingers bordered on obscene.
“Risa, pay attention.” He stopped moving and I growled, actually bared my teeth and growled.
The massaging stopped, but not the movement of his fingers. They crept up my legs, over my knees and to the insides of my thighs. “No one else is here. Berk is with Jules and Keyton has class.”
“Oh.”
He pressed on the insides of my thighs, spreading them, rubbing the sensitive skin. “Which means we have some time to ourselves.”
“It’s been a while.” My breath hitched. The nervous, twitchy side of me fought against the hunger blooming in my body and centering on the throb between my legs.
His fingers inched higher, and, being the helpful friend that I was, I lifted my hips, letting him pull my panties from under my ass. “It’s been too long.”
Almost two weeks. Between my museum shifts, tutoring, and LJ’s practice and game schedule, our paths felt like they were crossing less and less. Most people would think finding time to have sex with your roommate would be easy, not so much when you were trying to be secretive about it and our beds were noisier than a construction zone.
Other than some under-the-
blanket action on Movie Thursdays and him tracking me down in the Art History department for a mini makeout in the alcove of Renaissance art replicas, the drought had been long and hard.
He bunched up my skirt.
I’d never been happier for that clearance rack purchase than when he dragged his hands over my legs.
His thumbs brushed along the crease where my thighs framed the prize his eye was most definitely on.
“I need to do this more often.” His breath whispered against my pussy.
My muscles tightened in anticipation. The throb deepening and ripples fluttering through my stomach.
The first brush of his tongue sent liquid pleasure rushing through my veins. The added fingers ratcheted my back off the bed. The combination with the addition of extra attention to my clit flooded my body with a sexual tsunami. All sounds were drowned out by my moans and the blood hammering in my ears.
My fingers clutched at his hair and his ears were nestled—well, more like clamped between my thighs.
Panting and flushed, with dots dancing in front of my eyes, I fell back onto the bed. The collapse was complete.
LJ chuckled still on his knees, his belt jingling.
“Hey, guys—” Keyton’s voice broke through the sex daze with the silver lining of a round two. “Have you seen my…wallet.”
A bucket of ice water drenched on my body would’ve been less jarring.
We all stared at each other.
Keyton’s mouth hung open, keys still on the keyring on his finger.
LJ was on his knees between my thighs.
I lay on my back with my skirt hiked up to my waist, sex-flushed.
Those football reflexes kicked in first. Keyton slapped his hands over his eyes like a six-year-old during a kissing scene.
LJ jumped up and flung the blankets over me, while standing in front of me and faced the door.
“Sorry!” Keyton turned his back to us. “I was looking for my wallet. I didn’t see anything.”
He saw everything. As much as I wanted to be horrified, the fact that we’d been tiptoeing around this for nearly two months and still hadn’t learned to close the door was pretty hilarious.
